


is it the same for you?

by SweetBagels



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: M/M, but very pretty, george has a near death experience and matty is a pretty angel, i dont know how to tag this im sorry, it's just ridiculous and gay, said pretty angel also never shuts up and is pretty annoying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-19 01:25:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetBagels/pseuds/SweetBagels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George dies by accident. He meets an angel and finds out he isn't supposed to die yet.  Their schedules are very specific, you know. George comes back to life. His angel ends up not going away. His angel is also very annoying and very attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello this is my first time posting anything here i hope it isn't awful it's just rly stupid and gay!!!! this isn't super long but idk it's just the first chapter idk if i want lots of short ones or less long ones it'll be decided when i write more lolz anyway i love matty and george and i hope you do too!!!!  
> xo m

George was not a religious person. 

No one in his family was, really. They made him and his sisters do the whole first Communion thing and then kind of all just stopped caring. They did Christmas and Easter, but there wasn't much Jesus involved, just presents and big dinners with a lot of his family. It was fun. 

He didn't give much thought to religion. Never had, really. When he had to go to Sunday school for those first few years, it was just a bore to him and a way to make his parents happy. He didn't feel much of God's love shining down on him or whatever, so he eventually stopped being concerned with getting it.

He didn't care if he was going to Heaven or Hell or if they even existed. If they did exist, he would care about it when he got wherever he was going. 

In general, he didn't care much about God, or the holy ghost, or sacraments or anything of the sort. He cared about his dog and his drums and his mates and his weed and the contents of his closet. The simple things in life, right?

On Friday night, when he was out with his friends at some shitty show that some other friends were playing, he certainly wasn't thinking about God or anything of the sort. He was thinking about getting as drunk as possible, because he had gotten paid two days ago, and maybe finding someone to take home and shag if Adam decided to be the Party Dad and keep him from getting very drunk. 

Adam was very good at being responsible. George was not. Whenever they went out, it was always Adam or John playing the role of Party Dad, no more than two drinks, making sure everyone got home safe, boring boring boring. They should have worn turtlenecks, like Ross did, because they were boring enough to do. Or maybe not--those turtlenecks somehow got Ross laid every time. Who the fuck was into guys who wore turtlenecks?

On Friday night, after two hours, George was four drinks in. Not enough to be as drunk as he wanted, considering his size, but getting there. 

He was not thinking about God when he got a round for the boys. He didn't think about Jesus when he ordered himself a rum and Coke. He certainly wasn't concerned about Mary and Joseph when the pretty bartender put another two shots on his tab. 

None of these things were on his mind when the fight broke out. 

He wasn't taking part in any of it, of course. He didn't get in many fights. He didn't even know who was fighting, just some drunk blokes in the corner of the bar, shoving and punching as one of the bartenders yelled and tried, unsuccessfully, to break it up. 

George was one of the biggest guys there. He was well aware of it. So he walked over, ignoring the people shouting for the fight to stop and the people shouting for I to continue, and grabbed one guy by the shirt, hauling him back as someone grabbed the arms of the other one. 

"Break it up, for fuck's sake, we're trying to enjoy the show!" George said, frowning. The guy whose shirt was in his fist was flailing, but George was a head taller, had broader shoulders. He pulled him further away from the other brawler and let go of him, giving him a stern look. 

Most of the onlookers murmured their approval, nodding at George. One or two grumbled, disappointed that the fight was over so soon. George brushed off his hands, turning to head back to the boys. 

He heard glass break and someone yell something obscene, and he turned, opening his mouth, just as the man he had been holding lunged at him, catching him off balance and throwing him to the ground. 

He blacked out for a moment, his head hitting a table and then the floor. When he opened his eyes, blinking, there was a circle of people around him, leaning over him. Someone was saying something he couldn't hear. Was that Adam?

George was confused. His head didn't hurt nearly as much as he thought it would. Didn't hurt at all, actually. He just felt cold. Very cold. Which was surprising, considering the fact that he had been sweating five minutes before. 

He noticed someone crouch down beside him. "Hey, er, that was unexpected, I've got to admit."

"What?" George asked, staring at them. It was a boy, the prettiest boy he had ever seen. His hair was dark and curly, falling over a long, thin face, and his lips were bright red. 

"You didn't pay attention?" the boy asked, cocking his head to the side. The people around them were still chattering. 

"To what? The wanker just knocked me down."

"Did more than just that, mate."

"The fuck does that mean? And I'm not your mate."

"Got you with a bottle," the boy said, poking him in the abdomen. 

George frowned. "Doesn't feel like it."

"Right, well, you can't quite move your head right now, but trust me, if you could see it, you'd believe me."

"I can't--why can't I move my head?" he demanded. "Why can't I move anything?"

"You're not catching on too fast. That's alright. You're dead, mate."

"I'm--how the fuck am I dead? I'm talking to you right now."

"Well, of course you are. I'm only here because you're dead. That's my job."

"And what job would that be? Grim reaper?" George asked sarcastically. 

"Angel, actually."

"If you're an angel, where're your halo and wings?" He rolled his eyes. 

The boy sighed, exasperated. "Don't be ridiculous. You actually think we look like that? I hope you're joking. Whatever. Listen, I'm supposed to bring dead people where they're supposed to go. Except, er, you weren't supposed to die. Not yet, at least. Kind of a freak accident, that was. Happens occasionally. We can't predict everything, can we? Bit like the weather," he mused. 

"Did I get high and not realize it?" 

"Nah, you're not high. Just a little drunk. Well, not right now, you can't be drunk when you're dead. Anyway, the point is you're not supposed to die right now. Not really. And I assume you don't want to be dead, right? Because, I mean, if you don't care, you can be, but I bet you've got things to do. Right?"

"Uh, yeah, right, I don't want to be fucking dead."

"Great! Then I'll let you return to that whole living thing. I'll see you some other time. When I'm actually supposed to, yeah? Cool."

George stared at him. "You--"

"Sorry, mate, I've got to run. Other people actually dead right now. Busy schedule. Laters!"

George was about to speak again, but the boy disappeared out of sight and the crowd grew louder. Blue lights flashed along the ceiling, and suddenly his head began pounding and his chest and stomach hurt and he sucked in a deep breath, groaning. 

Definitely not dead.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit here it is!!! i hope you sweet beans like this. i'll try to keep updates coming fairly quickly. thanks for reading this omg  
> xo m

There was no angel appearing in front of George during the next week. 

There was nothing at all of the sort. There was just a hospital stay for three days and a surgery and a lot of stitches and painkillers and instructions to not drink while he was on them, which was annoying, because after all that he felt like he definitely deserved a drink. 

His parents insisted that he stayed with them until he had recovered. He insisted that was ridiculous. But he wasn't good at arguing with them, really, so they won. 

It wasn't all that bad, in all honesty. He just sat in bed or on the couch with the dog and barely had to lift a finger. He had a feeling his mum wasn't going to ask him to help with the trash any time soon. Except eventually, he got tired of spending all day sitting on the couch and watching shitty movies, and felt like he was going to go crazy.

His mates came over to spend time with him and keep him from going mad, but he just waited, very impatiently, until he convinced his mother that, yes, he was fine, and he'd be careful, and he was capable of going back to his flat and going back to normal. 

Then again, he had been questioning his idea of normal recently. Was that curly haired bastard really an angel? Or was he maybe hallucinating, in shock and unable to think straight? 

But it couldn't have been a hallucination. That much he figured out, because a week later, holding a box of cereal and a loaf of bread in the middle of a Tesco, he saw a mop of dark hair by the bananas that he knew he had seen before.

George blinked, and then quickly moved towards it, squeezing past an elderly lady and her cane and a mother surrounded by a gaggle of children, swearing under his breath as he twisted awkwardly, making his side ache. The boy was moving away, the back of his head now nearing the juices, and George almost broke into a run, catching up with him by pushing past a man in a suit.

He grabbed his arm, unsure of what he would do if it ended up being a stranger--but it wasn't.

The boy turned, and it was him. The same dark hair, red lips, pale skin. Some sort of Snow White bullshit, it was. He frowned at George. "What are you doing?" he asked. 

"No, listen, you don't get to ask me that, that's what I'm supposed to be asking you, alright?" George snapped. "Listen, I have no idea what happened the other day, but you better tell me what it was."

"Er, listen, mate--"

"No, you listen. I have no idea what happened. Guy in the ambulance told me I died. Adam said I didn't have a fucking pulse for two minutes. And then I just--"

"Seriously, listen to me," the boy interrupted. "You look like a maniac right now."

"You're the one who--"

"No, I mean, you look like you're talking to yourself. Look, you're the only one who can see me."

"I'm--what?" George glanced around him, trying to be discreet, but, sure enough, a woman to his left with a handful of grapes was eyeing him oddly.

"Yeah. More about that later. Anyway, fine, I'll talk to you, but maybe not here, for your sake? So you look a little less crazy?"

George stared at him, and then nodded. "Fine. Whatever."

"Great!" He beamed. "I'll meet you outside!"

He sauntered away, exiting the store after an old couple, and George hurried to pay for his things, barely paying attention to what was going on. He half expected the boy to be gone, but he kept his word. George found him leaning against the wall outside, picking at his nails.

"What the fuck is going on?" George demanded, approaching.

The boy looked him up and down before saying, "Alright, walk with me," and pushed away from the wall.

"What happened to me looking like I'm talking to myself?" George asked, falling into step beside him.

"People see me when I want 'em to. I couldn't just appear out of nowhere in there. I mean, I could, but then I'd have to alter the memory of anyone that might have seen me, and that's a pain."

"So people can see you now?"

"Yep. Now we just look like two mates having a chat."

"Are you actually an angel?" George demanded. 

The boy looked amused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you look like a normal person. Well, an annoying one, but more or less normal."

He rolled his eyes. "I look like whatever I want. I usually pick someone that... well, that died a while back, someone that no one remembers any more. That's what I'm doing right now. Picked up this guy a few decades ago. Anyway, if I felt like being a frog or something, I could do that, but that would be a bit off-putting, wouldn't it? Dying and having a frog come and take you away?"

"Away where?"

He wagged a finger at George. "No, you don't get to find that out. Not till it's your turn, mate."

"Why can I still see you, then?"

"Aha. Great question." He paused, and then, shrugging, admitted, "I have no fucking idea."

"How do you not know?" George stared at him. "You're telling me this never happened before?"

"Obviously, or else I would know, wouldn't I? You're a bit of an anomaly, I suppose. I've brought people back before, but they've never seen me after it."

"That doesn't mean I'm, like, dying or something, does it? Like, did I get cancer or something and now I'm slowly wasting away?"

"Don't be ridiculous. Normally--well, in every other case except this one--people only see us when they're actually dead. Not dying. Two very different things."

"This doesn't make sense."

"You think it doesn't make sense being a human, try being an angel. Yikes."

George ran a hand down his face. "Alright. Okay. So, I almost died--"

"No, you died. Like, hundred percent died."

"Fucking hell. Alright, I died, you showed up, brought me back to life, and what, now I'm stuck with you?"

"Stuck with me? No. I was just in the area. Lucky you, I'm a charmer, right?"

He grinned, but George ignored it. "How long are you gonna be in the area, or whatever?"

"Well, actually, I've just been assigned to it a little while ago. So I'm going to stay here for a bit. That's how we like to do it, keep things organized. So we aren't all running around making sure we pick everyone up."

"Wait, okay, two things--how long is a bit, and are there more of you?"

"A bit is, I dunno, maybe a couple centuries? Not long. And--"

"Not long?" George repeated. "Are you joking?"

"Listen, George, I'm technically an immortal, genderless, ageless, not-quite-but-almost omniscient being. A couple centuries is nothing. And quit interrupting. Where was I? More of us. Yeah, there's more of us, loads of us. What, you think I'm gonna do all this work on my own? Don't be ridiculous."

"So, what, you just... run around and look for dead people?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it sounds awful, doesn't it?" He rolled his eyes. "That's the bulk of it, though. Sometimes people get, like, some sort of divine message we've got to deliver. But that's only once a millennium or so. So, really, I just kind of hang out when I'm not working."

"Jesus fucking Christ." George stopped walking, leaning on a tree. "Am I stuck with you, then?"

"Stuck with me?" he shook his head. "No. You seeing me again was chance. Like I said, you shouldn't even be able to see me. But it's a big city. I doubt we'll run into each other often."

"Often? That means we still might."

He hesitated, but then shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose so. But, again. just chance, you know?"

"This is ridiculous. I don't want a fucking angel showing up."

"Hey, I was here first, alright? I'm just doing my job. Speaking of which, I've got to make another pickup. Er, well, nice... nice seeing you again, I guess?"

George sighed. "Yeah, sure, whatever, if you consider making me have an existential crisis nice."

"Just part of the job, George."

"How d'you know my name?" George asked suddenly as the boy started to turn away. 

He turned back, eyebrows raised. "Remember how I said that thing about being not quite omniscient? I know everyone's name. I know loads about you."

"That's fucked up."

"Makes it easier to break the bad news to people."

George frowned, and then asked, "Well, what's your name? I mean, do angels have names?"

"Of course we do. Don't be absurd. Er, you just wouldn't be able to understand it. Or hear it, probably."

"Then what do I call you?"

For a moment, he looked confused. "Call me?"

"I mean, if I see you around, I ought to have a name for you, right?"

"I... I guess." He nodded slowly. "Er, well... this guy was named Matthew," he said, gesturing at himself. "But I--him, too, really--prefer Matty."

"Matty. A fucking angel named Matty."

"Has a better ring to it than any of those Bible type names. I've never even met Gabriel. I've heard he's a narcissistic dick, though." He grinned. "Right, well, work to do, yeah? Bye now, George."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this chapter took so long to post oh god it was literally sitting there for like two weeks while i debated if it was done or not and i was slaving over writing for my creative writing class and my research paper and then i was out of the country for a week so i was like fuck it and here it is!!!! i'm so sorry omg but i promise the next part will be up soon and i'm sorry the ending for this one is shit plz forgive me  
> xo m

"George. George. George Daniel!"

George snapped his head up, blinking. "What?"

Adam stared at him. "Have you heard a word I've just said?"

"Er--no. Not one."

"Well, great. I'm glad to hear that," he said dryly.

"Sorry, mate, I'm just a bit tired," George said. It was true. He had hardly slept the last two nights, his mind constantly on how bizarre his life had become. On that stupid angel. The cute one.

He cringed at the thought--he wasn't cute, for fuck's sake. He was an angel. They weren't supposed to be cute. He was, like, a billion years old and just carried dead people around. There was nothing cute about that.

"Well, if you're interested, the lads are going out on Friday," Adam was telling him.

"Out where?"

"You'd know if you were paying attention to me before."

"Alright, Hann, I get it, you're bitter, can you just tell me?"

"There's a show down the street," Ross said, cutting Adam off. "We haven't gone out since... you know." He gestured vaguely at George, indicating the stitches that had just recently been removed from his abdomen, from what they had taken to calling "the accident." The accident where he fucking died for a few minutes.

George shifted in his chair. "I dunno, mate..."

"We don't have to, if you don't feel--if you want to do something else. We can just hang out here, or at Hann's place."

"I mean, if you lot want to go, I don't want to ruin it."

"George, we aren't gonna force you to go. Last time you went to a club you almost died. I dunno, maybe you have PTSD or whatever."

"No, really, I don't. I'm fine. I'll be fine. Let's go. It'll be fun."

"You're sure?" Ross frowned.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure," he insisted. "I haven't had a good night out in a while."

~

Three days later, they ended up in a club, three blocks away from George's fairly shitty flat, while some horrible DJ was playing remixes of early 2000s hits and the occasional Drake song. It was dreadful.

"This is what you insisted on doing?" George asked Adam, yelling into his ear to be heard.

He shrugged. "I heard he was going to be good. My sister's friend knows his girlfriend or something like that."

"He has a girlfriend? Has she heard how awful he is?"

"Don't girls like musicians or something?"

"I can't really believe that they'd like one as shit as him. And it's not like you've got a girlfriend."

"He's not that bad."

"We're in a club and the DJ just played the fucking Macarena."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Alright, fine, it's awful, but at least drinks are half price."

"Dunno if it's worth it."

"At least the girls are pretty?" he offered, still trying to defend himself. "The boys?"

George scanned the crowd. "None of 'em are really my type." 

"Well..."

George blinked, blocking Adam out, stunned at who he saw a few meters away, a glass in hand, grinning at someone who he couldn't see.

Matty. The fucking angel, in the same club as him, looking just like any other partygoer. He was speaking to someone, laughing at something, ignoring the girls and boys who both were clearly trying to flirt with him.

"George?" Adam tapped his arm just as Matty looked up, his eyes meeting George's. He blinked, his eyes widening.

"Yeah, er, hold on." George glanced at Adam. "I need some air."

"What? Alright, fine."

He turned back, towards where Matty was, but the angel was gone. He frowned, but reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and pushed his way through the crowd towards the back door. He lit his cigarette as he stepped outside, inhaling and exhaling deeply. 

George leaned against the brick wall of the building, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

"What are you doing here?"

His eyes snapped back open and he looked up. Matty was standing in front of him, arms crossed.

"What am I doing here?" George repeated.

"Yeah. You died in a club just like this one and you're already partying again?"

"What, am I not allowed to? What the fuck are you doing? Shouldn't you be flying around and making sure your halo fits right? You know, between shuttling the dead to the afterlife?"

"I told you, I don't work nonstop. There isn't someone dying every other second in this town."

"So you go party at clubs in your free time?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes. Or go to museums, or take walks, or--"

"Forget I asked." George waved him off. "You couldn't have picked some place I wouldn't be?"

"How should I have known you'd be here?" Matty demanded. 

"I live down the street!"

"I don't know where you live!"

"Aren't you supposed to know, like, everything? What happened to being almost omniscient or whatever the fuck you called it?"

The angel groaned. "I didn't think bringing you back would mean I'd have to deal with you being this annoying. Fuck me."

"Shouldn't angels watch their mouths or something?"

"Oh, shove it, big guy. I can say whatever I want."

George took a deep breath. "Look," he said slowly, "I don't want anything to do with you. I've had enough of this."

"You think I haven't?" Matty asked.

"I don't care. I don't want to deal with you, okay? Because every time I do, I question my fucking sanity, and everything that's happened, and I'd rather just forget I met a fucking angel and died and came back to life, because if I forget it I can just pretend nothing happened."

"Well, George, news flash, but something did happen, and neither of us know what it was."

"I don't care!"

Matty blinked, looking surprised. "You... you don't care?"

"No! I care about my life going back to normal! Because this?" He waved his arms, gesturing widely "This is not normal!"

"Yes, but... listen, this has never happened before as far as I know. You don't want to know why?"

"What did I just say? No! I don't! Why does it matter to you?"

"Because my life, contrary to what you might think, is boring!" Matty groaned. "It's all the same thing over and over. I don't have any human friends because you lot all die so fast, and I'm a young angel and the old ones are all boring as fuck. And now, for once, there's something different. Something I can't understand in an instant. Something I can actually try and figure out on my own."

George frowned, staring at him for a moment, and then shook his head. "Fine, look, that's great and all or whatever, but I don't care. You can go to the angel library and do your research and figure this shit out, but just leave me out of it so I can pretend I'm normal, alright?"

~

Matty appeared a week later. One moment, George was alone, buying a cup of coffee, and then Matty was standing behind him.

"I told you to leave me alone!" George snapped, almost spilling his drink as he jumped in surprise. 

"I know. I was planning on it. But I did some research, and I can't."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because I think I'm supposed to be in love with you."


End file.
